Chapter 16
Sixteen
My old apartment smelled of garlic and onions in a lived-in, homey kind of way. An omelet, I was certain, because the only
thing Wells cooked for himself regularly was a pepper and onion omelet that he’d cram with green garlic. It was oozy, delicious,
with way more cheese than I’d ever add myself. My mouth watered, craving one with a tall, ice-cold glass of orange juice.
It was hard to believe that I would never eat one again.
My former home felt both familiar and not. I checked my watch, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the framed cereal box
top beside the door. “Let’s get to it. The moving company will be here at two, and I’m going out with my old neighbor Caleb
tonight. Have I mentioned how much I love you for this?”
Natalie flashed an impish smile and opened the fridge, its door whooshing with a near-silent click. She handed me a flavored seltzer as my phone chimed. “Drink’s on me.”
“Ha.” I twisted my hair into a knot as I read, unease brittle in my chest. “Great. Exactly what I needed to read right now.”
Natalie sipped and raised her eyebrows, waiting.
“From Yes to I Do’s showrunner Yvonne emailed to say she’s back in the office this week. She wrote—” I consulted the screen. “ ‘In the meantime,
we’ll need you and Wells to submit some personal footage to mitigate some of these fake news articles. Also, feel free to
post on your own socials!’ ”
Natalie made a face at me. “If you post the screenshot from Cambrey’s sext, you’ll be banned from Instagram.”
I exhaled. “Can’t wait to metaphorically guillotine my career just as it’s beginning.”
“A beautiful thing about being a person is that you can also choose to build whatever you want next,” Natalie said. She laid
a hand on her clavicle, a practiced, former-theater-kid motion. “Though I was really looking forward to my television debut.
But at least now I can rewear that dress to my cousin’s wedding.”
We got to work. As I mentally rehearsed how I’d bow out of From Yes to I Do, I tagged the handful of items I’d brought with me into the brownstone with hot pink Post-it notes. My grandmother’s chipped
marble side table Wells hated; a sleek console table I’d thrifted that he loved. A coatrack I’d lugged home, carried upstairs
when the elevator was down for maintenance, and Wells had never once mentioned. Not once. Even though he was the one who used
it almost daily ever since, draping hats and coats and empty Target bags on it like it was an art installation. I plucked
my research notebooks from the bookshelf, their paper weight the most reassuring thing I’d felt in weeks. Facts, truth, information:
my building blocks of comfort lived in the storywork here. This was supposed to be the thing that chugged me along. Not all
these emotions that clung to the objects, the physical sum of my former life.
I walked toward my former bedroom, paging through my notes on addiction in families. I was struggling to add to the conversation,
to aid in recovery instead of just reiterating its existence. There were so many people better suited to tell that story than
me. I tossed the notebook on the bed and froze.
An envelope with OLIVIA in Wells’s block lettering sat atop the pillow on my side of the bed, the one I’d skated backward
on the day that changed everything. Tears threatened to break, but I blinked them away. A whimper-moan escaped my throat.
I marched into the black-and-white tiled bathroom, the floor as hot as ever. Shoved every remaining lotion and makeup brush I owned into a bag. Ignored the envelope. Ignore it, ignore it, ignore—
I dropped the bag of toiletries.
In the bedroom, I tore it open, sat on the soft linen duvet, and read the handwritten note on his dumb letterhead.
Dear Olivia,
I got your voicemail. Since I’ve vowed to be honest with you, here’s the truth: Until that article came out about our engagement,
I didn’t tell my parents about what happened. I have no excuse except extreme embarrassment, and probably the fact that I
wish our breakup wasn’t real.
I’ve been putting this off as much as I could because the contract is clear: We’ve lost our deposit no matter what already.
The date is still ours unless we cancel or don’t make the next payment (Oct 31).
I still love you. I probably always will. If you’d take me back, I’d return to you in a heartbeat. I haven’t given up hope
yet, but I respect the hell out of you, Olivia, and I’d give you all the time in the world you might need. If you can find
it in your heart to forgive me, that is. I couldn’t have predicted where we’d be right now, but I did picture you by my side.
I really need to talk to you in person about something. Can we meet up?
—W
P.S. I’m so proud of you.
To my surprise, my eyes stung. I sniffed. I hated the part of myself that missed Wells, missed our life together. It had been
so much easier than this one.
I reached for my phone and unblocked him, but then I put it away. I had less than zero desire to see him, and even less to
talk to him.
Natalie wandered in the room and flopped onto the bed beside me.
Wordlessly, I passed her the thick stationery.
When she finished, she folded the paper and handed it back to me, her disbelief and scorn obvious in her lip curl.
“New rule. We don’t date people who keep weddings on without telling you. How low can you go, Wells Stratton?”
“Seriously,” I said, aiming for a conviction I wasn’t sure I felt. Because part of this was my fault, too. Suddenly, and not
without a sinking sense of unease, I thought of things other people neglected with consequence. Taxes. The dentist. Mental
health. I had a whole entire wedding that I hadn’t bothered to formally cancel, because I assumed someone else would do it,
because I didn’t want to give it the headspace. Me, parrot of all facts, ignoring the fattest ones. Shame coursed in my lungs,
streamed across my cheeks. The lack of follow-through was mortifying, and so was thinking about spreading the word among my
friends and loved ones that the article was true; Wells and I were kaput, and From Yes to I Do had lost its promoted season premiere.
I yanked open my nightstand drawer, clearing it of stray earring backs, bookmarks from two local indies, and my favorite hand
lotion. “Hey, Nat?” I said. “Can you distract me?”
Natalie sat up. “I broke up with Danny.” She unzipped a duffel bag and began loading my exercise clothing into it.
I stopped, guilt squelching through my mouth. “You did?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? That doesn’t even qualify for a new rule. That one is pre-established.”
Natalie blew a strand of hair out of her face. “You’ve sort of had a lot going on, my love.”
My chest caved. “Still.”
Natalie shrugged. “Still. Your life took a total one-eighty.”
“But if things are done with Danny . . .” I raked my teeth over my bottom lip. Danny had been Natalie’s on-and-off guy for years. They were plus-ones, movie buddies, friends-with-benefits. “Then yours did, too,” I finished.
“I never wanted more than what I had with him. But when Soulmail came out, my mom was mine, and he received one I haven’t
heard about. It’s someone whose birthdate is TBD.”
“What?” I gasped, thunderstruck. “How can that—”
Natalie stood. “See? This is why I didn’t want to tell you. You’re my best friend, and I love you desperately, but Soulmail
is affecting everyone, Liv. Not just you. I can see your mind working over this—this news,” she said. It came out halfway mean. “Listen. You’re the face of something so monumental, and your life has taken this massively
unexpected twist.” Here, she pointed at Wells’s note. “But I’m here, too.”
I fell silent. Dust motes swirled in the air, empty hangers in my closet stilling. Somewhere, Wells’s grandfather clock chimed.
“You are one hundred percent right,” I said. “I’ve been ridiculously self-absorbed.”
A smile twitched on the corners of Natalie’s mouth, then fell. “You said it, not me,” she said. This time, it was kind.
I shook my head. “You picked up your entire life, came back to my fancy hotel, and had me move in with you. You’ve been my
sounding board and I’ve barely made time for your stuff. I’m so sorry, Nat. That’s not me.”
“I know.” Natalie sighed. “Apology accepted.”
I held open my arms, and Natalie fell into them. “Let’s DoorDash tacos here,” I said, my words muffled in Natalie’s hair.
“You can cry about Danny if you want.”
“I don’t want to cry about Danny.”
“Fair.”
“But you do want the story.”
“Of course I do,” I admitted.
“His Soulmail has his last name,” Natalie said. “Future kid, we’re guessing. I think he wanted to make me his concubus, which . . .
You know I’m child-free by choice.”
Relief washed through me. “You mean his baby incubator?”
“Yeah. Whatever. Same thing.”
“A concubus is a sexual demon.”
Natalie lifted her head and waggled her brows. “Then I was already that.”
I released my friend and stood. “It’s settled,” I said. “You’ll come out with me and Caleb tonight to celebrate my new spot.”
Natalie twisted her mouth. “Are you sure? He was such a jerk to you.”
“You’ve never even met him.”
“Yeah. But I remember first semester of freshman year.”
I scratched my ear. “That was ages ago.”
“Fine,” Natalie said, holding her hands aloft in surrender. “We’ll finish this pack job so I can mourn losing you as a roommate
yet again. Then I’ll meet Caleb. We’ll be a match made in Olivia heaven, especially since you traded up for besties. We’ll
talk about light subjects like free will and destiny and human connection, since that’s what Soulmail has done to us in this
lifetime. Somewhere in between all that, you’ll cancel your wedding, yeah?”
I nodded, resolved. If only I had a promo code for follow through. I grinned, surveyed my old bedroom. “Hey, Nat? No matter what lifetime we live in, I’d want you to be my soulmate.”
Her smile was light. “I am. We don’t need an email to tell us that.”